


Stop All The Clocks

by meandmybrokenfeels



Series: NaNoWriMo 2016 One-Shot Collection [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, Ficlet, Funeral, M/M, One Shot, eulogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8493076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meandmybrokenfeels/pseuds/meandmybrokenfeels
Summary: A eulogy for John H. Watson from his best friend, Sherlock Holmes.





	

Hello.

For those of you who do not know, I am Sherlock Holmes. John Watson was my flatmate, partner in crime solving, and best friend. Several years ago, I was asked to make another speech, as the best man at his wedding. That one was far easier than this. Under normal circumstances, one could not expect to find me at a funeral, unless searching for the killer. One would never find me at a wedding.

The adventures of Holmes and Watson will, I’m sure, stand throughout the ages. Much of that is thanks to John’s blog, in which he chronicled many of our cases. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and all the others who helped us have their stories told there as well. I will not fool myself into believing that I am capable of telling his story half as well as he told mine--as he told ours.

The world did not deserve this man. If heroes did exist, he would most certainly be one of the few. This doctor fixed what many had deemed an irredeemably broken shell of a man. His loyalty and bravery were shown in all that he did, whether in Afghanistan or England. He has endured war, and injury, and tragic loss, and today he shall lie in the earth, never again to smile at those he has saved.

I have been called a great man. John Watson was most definitely a good one, and far better than myself or any other I have known. I would like to conclude with the final two stanzas of a poem by W. H. Auden entitled “Stop All The Clocks.” Its sentiments, I’m sure, are echoed by the many who cared greatly about him, myself most of all. 

_He was my North, my South, my East and West,_  
My working week and my Sunday rest,  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. 

_The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;_  
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;  
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.  
For nothing now can ever come to any good. 


End file.
